A sign of wealth, these beads were often buried with their native
owners, and have been known to come up in the sands of the desert. Most of these beads
have no equal in todays marketplace. One might only imagine the interesting history and
stories these beads would tell if they could only talk. Many of the pieces you will see on
this site will also incorporate other types of contemporary and antique bead spacers, or
center pieces, of silver, stone, wood, or other materials to enhance the beauty of the
particular piece. Each piece is unique.
From Florence to Murano,
Venice and to Rome,
In days of old and even now,
It was where glass had made its home.
They'd heat and melt and mold it,
And turn it to a lovely shape,
And also turn it into beads,
Around a woman's neck to drape.
A myriad colors and patterns intertwined,
With layers of molten glass,
Were shipped around the world in mass,
In trade for tea and spices,
And everything that nice was,
And even human slaves,
Across vast seas were passed.
The formation of these lovely beads,
It surely was an art,
And it was in Italy years ago,
These antiquated beads,
Received their very start.
They're awesome and they make some wince,
And they never have been equaled since,
And there's no one out there to convince,
That they're no others like them in the land,
And that each of them was made by hand.
Most landed first in Africa,
Then back into the states they came,
Where they've become much more appreciated,
And gained their lasting fame.
As African trade beads they are known,
Regardless where they first were sewn,
And have reached a few collectors,
Who've made them now their own.
So the more you know and the more you read,
When you see them you will know they're freed,
And realize as beauty goes,
There's nothing like an antique bead.
Rising from the sands of time,
There comes some glass, there comes a rhyme.
Although we can not hear it,
It was played a million times,
And told of suffering and hardship,
A million paradigms.
These little bits of molten glass,
Were not intended to harass,
But reached a far off place,
Oft traded for a colored face,
Which took us to some deep crevasse.
Freed now from the bloody sand,
They rest in but another hand,
To beautify as had been planned,
Their music from a different band.
So when you look upon a bead,
Remember that which did precede,
Remember that and please take heed,
Or mankind will be never freed.